


Phil Coulson: Agent of Shield (and Avid Knitter)

by Hapalochlaena_16



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Knitting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-06-01 13:23:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6521536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hapalochlaena_16/pseuds/Hapalochlaena_16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bunch of one shots (eventually) of Phil Coulson being a knitting ninja, and Shield and the Avengers being confused by all the randomly appearing knit goods.</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own anything belonging to Marvel, even if I wish I did...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wrapped In Wool](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4520088) by [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox). 



When Phillip Coulson was twelve he was sent to see his grandmother in Virginia. He had gotten into a fight at school with Lester Strauss for bullying another student, and since it was so close to winter break he was given the option of staying at home with his arguing parents or to visit his Grandma Elizabeth. 

He didn’t really remember her well, just that she had always been nice and always sent the best scarves and sweaters for Christmas. Phil also just really hated how his parents would argue all the time now and would drag him into their fights. So it was three p.m. on his first day of break and he was walking off the plane looking around for his Grandma Elizabeth. He was nervously holding onto the straps of his book bag when he heard his name being called.

“Phil!” A smiling older woman called out, and Phil recognized her from some of the pictures his dad had of her.

“Hi Grandma Elizabeth.” Phil shifted awkwardly, and then was pulled into a tight hug by his grandma. 

“Oh, I am so glad you came,” She enthused and pulled away, holding him at arm's length. “Look at you! So tall! Oh, you must be tired though, with that long flight.”

“It was only a couple hours, Grandma.” Phil said, feeling a bit off kilter.

“Well, let’s get you settled in, regardless.” She smiled warmly, eyes crinkling up at the corners. 

The drive to his grandma’s house was filled with information about the area she lived in and brief stories about some of the places they were stopping by. Once they got to her house, Phil was briefly shown around to the kitchen with its warm wood cabinets and a sitting room with a long floral decorated couch, then he was ushered upstairs into the room he would be staying in, given another warm and enthusiastic hug from Grandma Elizabeth, and an admonishment to settle in and that she would call him down for dinner when it was ready. 

Phil sat down heavily on the quilted bedspread on his bed, feeling overwhelmed by his grandmother, and looked around the room that was his for the break. It was painted a non offensive cream color, with a comfortable bed, small wooden bedside table and table lamp. He laid back on the bed, feeling exhausted and closed his eyes, only for a moment. 

He groggily woke up a couple hours later to his grandma gently shaking him awake, and his stomach growling. His grandma chuckled when his stomach started making noise and led him downstairs to mouthwatering beef brisket and cabbage. Grandma Elizabeth cheerfully told him stories of her youth and drawing him out to tell her more about himself. 

He didn’t even realize until halfway through dinner that he had been gushing about Captain America and how he wanted to be like him, which is what had spurred his fight with Lester and subsequent visit to Virginia. He stuttered to a stop midway through his gushing, blushing red. Grandma Elizabeth just grinned and started telling him stories of when she was much younger, determined to do something good, and once met Captain America. 

“I became a nurse and got sent over, a month before Captain America got there. I first met him after he had gone out to rescue his friend, Sergeant James Barnes, and the unit he was with…”

Phil listened avidly, somehow more amazed at a real life description of his hero than any of the Captain America comic books he read.

Over the next few days, Phil got to know his Grandma Elizabeth and sat with her in the evenings listening to her talk about the people she knew and places she had been. She would sit there in her overstuffed wing-back chair, a basket of yarn in front of her and her knitting needles smoothly clacking together. One night, he watched her make a red, white and blue hat that she gave him before bed, teasingly saying she couldn’t give him a shield, but have a hat. He was fascinated by it, trying to see how it all fit together, and loving how she had listened and made him something inspired by Captain America. The next evening he asked her to teach him to knit, and his grandma smiled pulling out a pair of needles and some thick blue yarn. She answered any question he had about his new hobby.

“How do I do this stitch?”

“How do you keep track of the rows?”

“Can you show me how to make a scarf to match the hat?”

Grandma Elizabeth just laughed and enthusiastically answered all his questions. When Christmas finally came around she gave him his own set of knitting needles in different sizes, a basket of yarn to start with, and everything else he would need to knit on his own. Phil was actually sad to go, but promised to visit as often as he could. 

He returned home, his parents seeming to have sorted things out between the two of them, and determinedly kept knitting. The first time his father saw it, he just remarked on how his Grandma had managed to get to him, but ruffled his hair as he walked away. 

When he got back to school, Lester Strauss tried to make Phil his new target. Phil told him how pathetic of a bully he was. When Lester went to punch him, he did it in front of a teacher, and got suspended for a few weeks. Phil felt it was a little anti-climatic, but decided he should work on his ability to defend himself before he tried defending others.

Phil called his Grandma regularly, about his everyday life and problems and knitting. He sent her a few items he made, slightly lopsided, but still warm and cozy. Grandma Elizabeth called him each time she got something he made, enthused at the gifts, and always with tips on how to improve his skills. Phil got into a few more scuffles at school, but after a few calls to his Grandma helped him work out ways to not lose his temper, or to at least get some self-defense training.

When Phil decided to join the army, Grandma Elizabeth encouraged him to do what felt best to him, but to always find time for knitting. He stopped for a few years while he attended the academy, despite his promises, until he got recruited by a clandestine government agency called Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. The stress of the job drove him half mad before he took up knitting again, if only so he didn’t snap and kill someone (who didn’t deserve it).


	2. The Knitting Ninja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phil stress knits and tries to get rid of it.

Phil surveyed his spare room, every available surface covered in knitting. There were stacks of scarves precariously leaning on a cheap Ikea chair, piles of hats on the slightly uneven desk, and a motley assortment of other goods randomly piled together. Phil sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. He had been in the SHIELD Ops academy for four years, graduating to active Agent, and spent six months establishing himself, and the sheer stress from the day to day activities and the missions had driven him to this. 

He morosely considered getting a couple cats to complete the image his spare room drew up for him. Phil shook himself off and resolved to get rid of all the knitting that had accumulated in the last few months, so he could at least pretend that he was a normal, well-adjusted agent of SHIELD.

Phil checked his watch and swore, shutting the door on his stress knitting. He quickly swallowed down his toast and grimaced at the charred smelling eggs he had left too long on the stove. Grabbing his briefcase and sliding his sidearm into place, Phil left for his office already trying to figure out how he quick foist his knitting off onto someone without them knowing. 

\---

Phil was sitting on the comms listening to Agent Melinda May fight a small group of insurgents, occasionally throwing out warnings.

“Keep an eye on the guy to your left, he has a knife in his right hand.” Phil toggled between the security camera’s in the area.

“Got him.” May blocked a stab, and put the man’s knife into his own neck.

Phil watched her walk out of the alley, not even looking winded. Phil opened his mouth, thinking a hypothetical question might get him an answer to his knitting problem, when May shivered and zipped her jacket up all the way. Phil closed his mouth and smiled, thinking he had just the solution in mind. 

Later that night, finally finished with the debriefing and almost finished with the paperwork, Phil returned to his apartment. He stepped into the spare room and started rifling through the piles of scarves. He stopped, considered how many agents seemed to forget to pack extra clothing for more inclement weather, and just grabbed the entire stack. 

Phil set the scarves down on his table and returned to grab some of his stock of hats. He plopped them down and surveyed his selection. Grabbing a black scarf Phil rifled through the pile of hats to find one that matched the color and stitch. Anything else would be ignored by Melinda. He continued sorting and matching before he had a respectable amount of paired items. 

Now he just had to figure out how to sneak them into the to-go bags of the many agents who he had noticed trying to just tough out the cold while on assignment.

\---

Phil slipped into the briefing room, pleased to have been successful in depositing the items without being caught. The agent in charge of the briefing raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing as Phil was only barely on time. He settled into his seat and started taking notes on the assignment. 

A week later when he returned the base was buzzing. Phil spotted another junior agent, Sitwell was his name, and asked him what was going on.

“You don’t know?” Sitwell looked aghast at this.

“I was on assignment for the past week.” Phil responded.

“Well, someone sneaked into a couple of the ready rooms and put knit hats and scarves in every bag that was sitting out. No one knows who it is, and whoever did it cleaned up their trail well enough that the squints can’t find any trace.” Sitwell looked unwillingly impressed. “None of the items were dangerous, so most everyone that got them decided to keep them.”

Phil was more than a little pleased with himself at having thought about wiping the feeds to the rooms, but was still stupefied at how much attention it was getting. “So, why is everyone still so-” Phil made a broad gesture at the agents still talking around them.

Sitwell grinned. “Since no one can find the Knitting Ninja, the brass wants to find whoever did it, if only to give them a commendation.”

“Knitting Ninja?” Phil was almost afraid to ask.

“Figured the name probably fits with the knit scarves and hats and the fact that no one saw them,” Sitwell shrugged.

Phil gave him an absentminded thank you and headed to the room he was supposed to debrief in, still thrown by the conversation. Knitting Ninja. Who even came up with that?


	3. Meeting Barton

Phil was in the middle of finishing a particularly difficult cabled shawl when the comm started beeping. It was only with a muttered curse and his hard-earned calm that kept from accidently pulling his project apart. He slid caps onto the ends of his needles and fumbled for his comm.

“Sitrep!” He barked into the comm once he had it in place.

“We’ve got a new player, Coulson,” Sitwell immediately responded. “I think it may be that Hawkeye guy, judging by the arrow that just sprouted from our targets’ jugular.”

Phil hurriedly stowed his project away and sped down the stairs of the safe house and into the surveillance van outside. He yanked open the door and leaned over Sitwell’s shoulder. Sitwell just turned the screen towards Phil, showing the milling crowd around the downed target.

“Into his jugular, you said?” Phil asked while staring at the scene on the screen.

“Yeah. Mullen and Roberts have narrowed down the location of his perch to two possible buildings,” Sitwell told Phil.

“Do we have surveillance on them?” Phil asked the tech on the other side of Sitwell.

“We’re still narrowing down potential suspects, sir,” The tech replied.

Phil leaned over to watch the screen as the tech was scanning through each face, discarding each as quickly as it appeared.

“Wait,” Phil said, the tech stopped with a glance at him. “Which camera is that?”

“Service entrance to the hotel,” the tech promptly answered.

“Go back two minutes,” Phil’s eyes flicked over each face quickly. “Play from there.”

The tech hit play and a few seconds later Phil hit pause, and pointed out a young man.

“Run facial recognition on him, he matches the intelligence of his description we gathered after the Brussels incident involving Hawkeye,” Phil ordered. The tech nodded, zooming  
in on the man’s face and dragging it into another program to run facial recognition.

“Agent Coulson, the guy just came out of the building and is heading west towards the river,” another agent called out to Phil.

“Keep me updated on his route, I’m going after him. Let me know when the program finishes and update me on anything you find out,” ordered Phil as he checked his comms again.

“Coulson-” Sitwell started to say.

Phil just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, making Sitwell give a resigned sigh. 

“Agents Benson and Anson, with me,” Phil called out as he stepped out of the van.

The two agents followed him, readjusting their civilian clothes to hide the imprints of their gun holsters.

“Benson, cut him off from the north, and don’t engage,” The agent nodded at Phil as she sharply turned into an alley.

“Anson, go south, same orders,” Anson gave a loose salute and sloped off onto a southern street.

Phil kept walking forward, ready to adjust his route as Sitwell muttered in his ear. 

“Our guy is Clint Barton. He has a few priors…Apparently grew up in the circus, stage name was “the Amazing Hawkeye”. How did we miss this guy? It’s really fuckin’ obvious now,” Sitwell cursed. “Um, no high school records, or GED scores… He’s got a brother in a penitentiary in, really? Alabama. The brother’s name is Barney, poor kid. Still waiting on more information, but that’s the important bit.”

Phil hummed, being too close to Barton to risk responding any further. He spotted Benson at a street stall a block away, casually waiting in a line for coffee and standing at an angle to see the street in Phil’s, and Barton’s, direction. Anson was likewise across the street, looking, for all intents and purposes, like he was window shopping. Clint Barton was walking down the street a couple meters ahead of Phil, and hadn’t yet reached Benson’s or Anson’s positions. Phil slid unobtrusively to Barton’s left, just another businessman in a suit. He scanned the alleyways leading into the street, trying to calculate which way Barton would most likely run to once Anson made contact. He positioned himself near the most likely alley and glanced over to see Benson doing to the same at another alley entrance. He nodded to Anson to go ahead.

Anson carefully maneuvered himself through the crowd until he was on Barton’s right.

“Mr. Barton, I’m Agent-” was as far as Anson got before Barton’s elbow crashed into his nose.

As Phil had predicted, Barton chose the alley Phil had staked out as the most likely escape route. Phil spared a glance back at Anson to see him being hampered in his pursuit by well-meaning civilians with blood pouring down his face.

Phil caught up to Barton, finding himself in a hand to hand fight with Benson. He seemed to be favoring his left arm and Phil could see a knife wound on his bicep. Phil was considering stepping in when Barton ducked Benson’s fist and used her momentum to throw her into the alley wall behind him. He then made for an escape, jumping onto a dumpster to give himself an added boost to grab onto a nearby fire escape.

“Mr. Barton, if you won’t come down on your own, I will have to make you,” Phil called to him.

“I’d like to see you try!” Barton shouted down, but seemed to be struggling with his cut arm and what looked like a twisted knee.

“Well, I’d hate to disappoint,” Phil murmured, as he pulled his gun and shot Barton in the leg.

As he expected, Barton tried to hold onto the rungs of the fire-escape ladder, but fell only a moment later. Phil walked over to him, gun still at the ready. He kneeled next to Barton, careful not to put knee to the questionable ground of the alley, and applied pressure to his wound. He heard Anson run into the alley and immediately go to help Benson up. Barton’s face was twisted in pain, and no small amount of anger and trepidation.

“Let’s talk options,” Phil said calmly. Barton’s expression changed to one of bewilderment. Phil smirked internally.  
~~~  
“Belated congratulations on catching the elusive Hawkeye, Agent,” Director Fury drawled, looking amused. “He is now officially your problem.”  
Phil sighed. “Sir-”

“He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Alaska, which is where I am tempted to send him, he’s already blown through most of the training we can think to give him, and he’s already halfway through his GED course,” Fury paused for a breath, and Phil broke in before he could begin again.

“I thought he was having trouble with the course?” Phil would have kept track of Barton had it not been the assignment he had to go on the previous two months.

“All it took was explaining the trigonometry and math portion to archery and projectile weaponry terms and he started tearing through that too. Same for the science portion, or really the chemistry, the guy knows his explosives. The only part that he’s been going slowly on is the literature, and I think that’s more from lack of materials than lack of smarts,” Fury grumped. “That isn’t the issue though. He’s already pissed off half the potential handlers we have for him, and working on the rest. He’s not doing himself any favors. So as the agent responsible for bringing him in, he is now your problem.

Phil gave a half-hearted argument, already accepting his new role of handler for Barton. After his meeting with Fury, Phil searched for his new wayward agent. He found Barton on the range and wondered why he hadn’t searched it first. He settled in to watch Barton, wishing he had a set of knitting needles to keep his hands busy. Phil couldn’t help but be impressed, he had known objectively that Barton was inhumanly accurate but to see it, it was practically poetry in motion.  
~~~  
It took a few missions, most pretty much milk runs, before Barton finally warmed up enough to Phil to stop looking like a hunted animal waiting for the other shoe to drop. On mission Phil found Barton to be focused and quiet, although once he became more comfortable with Phil, he was more vocal on the comms. Barton was happy to sass him, and Phil was happy to let him since it never interfered with Barton’s effectiveness in the field.

After a mission to North Dakota in the late fall, Barton took to complaining.

“R&D is useless, Coulson,” Barton said, sprawled out across Phil’s admittedly comfortable office couch.

“What is it this time, Barton?” Phil absentmindedly asked, most of his attention focused on finishing a report.

“Well, during the last mission my fingers damn near froze while holding on to the rifle,” Barton scowled, rubbing his fingers.

“You couldn’t warm your hands up in your perch?” Phil took his attention off the paper work to frown in concern at Barton.

“Not without taking my hands off the rifle, and I had no idea when I would have the opportunity to take the shot, so I just powered through it,” He muttered defensively.

“R&D really doesn’t have any solutions?” Phil asked.

“Not that they’re willing to do for me, but the head of the department is an asshole. He says that they have higher priorities than my hands,” Barton says, voice going soft in resignation.

“Well, that won’t do,” mutters Phil, already setting aside time in his calendar to see Dr. Carson in R&D.  
~~~  
“I’m sorry, Agent Coulson,” Dr. Carson sneered, looking anything but sorry. “but I can’t spare anyone from the really important projects for Agent Barton’s hands.”

“Dr. Carson, Agent Barton is one of our most elite agents, his ability to hold his weapon in relative comfort, or at least having his hands protected from the environment, is a priority.”

Dr. Carson hemmed and hawed, but ultimately refused to assign any time or people towards developing something to protect Barton’s hands. Phil was of the opinion that Dr. Carson’s ego took a hit when Barton outright refused the rifle designed by R&D until he made his own modifications to it. With Dr. Carson refusal to fix Barton’s hand issue, the problem remained.

Phil frowned; he had a responsibility to the agents under his care, even more so to Barton, who was still learning to trust him. Once he got back to his office, and finding that Barton had broken into his office again to nap on his couch, Phil felt his disappointment and frustration turn into determination. If Dr. Carson would not do his job, then Phil would. Anyways, no one had gotten a hint of the knitting ninja in a while; some drama would be good for the office.

Ultimately, after consulting his grandmother and taking notes on how Barton held his rifle so that anything he made wouldn’t get caught in the mechanisms, Phil decided on a pattern for very thin gloves. He decided to do a few pairs in silk and a few in a fine silk/wool blend, some fingerless for varying weather. The problem was making sure they would tuck into Barton’s uniform without bunching or sliding and generally affecting his effectiveness. Phil decided on little hooks to grab onto the seam around his wrists, and bands inside the wrist that would grip the skin and prevent sliding while Barton worked.

Once that problem was out of the way, Phil started working on the gloves. He picked out several color combinations, favoring black, but adding patterns of a very dark purple just to add depth in the visual of the gloves. The choice of purple had nothing at all to do with the fact Sitwell had found copies of posters for the Amazing Hawkeye from somewhere, featuring a young Clint Barton in a bright purple spandex costume.

It only took Phil a few weeks to get all the gloves done. Trying to slip the gloves in with Barton’s gear was not as easy to do. It was another month and several missions later that Phil had an opportunity to put the gloves into position. The mission they were heading out on next was going to require Barton at a scope for hours at a time to wait for his target. With all the extra winter gear that Barton was given, slipping in the gloves alongside a coat was simple.  
~~~  
When Barton pulled several pairs of gloves out of his bag for a gear check with a tech, he was completely bewildered. The technician going over the material with him was even more surprised.

“These can’t be regulation, they’re too nice,” Barton fingered the gloves, then tried them on to see if they were as soft and warm as they felt.

“They aren’t regulation –” The tech blurted. “the Knitting Ninja!”

The tech tried lunging across the table to grab for the gloves. Barton tugged them out of reach and curled his hands protectively around them.

The tech was not dissuaded, and tried explaining in hopes of getting the gloves from Barton.

“Everyone in SHIELD has been trying to figure out who makes these for years! Some of the senior techs have offered rewards for anymore knit items so they can test them, but the Knitting Ninja went dormant last year!”

“If you haven’t figured it out by now, then how do you know having these will help?” Barton asked defensively, not planning to let the tech get his hands on the gloves. If they weren’t a usual part of the gear, and whoever the Knitting Ninja was came out of hiding to make them, then they had to be a gift. Clint could count on one hand someone had given him something like this, and he wasn’t about to give them up.

The tech opened his mouth to retort or demand the gloves, but the door was opened by another agent waiting to get briefed. Barton took the opportunity he was presented with to grab the gloves and the rest of his mission gear and ran away from the grabby tech.

Once Barton got back to the relative safety of his room, he pulled the gloves out of his bag. He rubbed them between his fingers, feeling the detail in the weave and marveling at how perfect the fit was. They were exactly what he needed for long periods in a perch and needing his hands on a weapon the entire time. He knew R&D hadn’t made them, Carson would be gloating about it if that were the case. The gloves also felt personal in a way none of the rest of his gear was.

“The Knitting Ninja, huh?” Barton murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have borrowed this idea a little bit from Wrapped in Wool, where Eggsy makes Percival finger less gloves. It fit too well for me not to do gloves...
> 
> 9/21/2017- did some minor edits to the chapter, because formatting hates me


	4. New Obsessions

After Clint received the gloves from the mysterious Knitting Ninja (and, damn, had they been useful on his mission), he became obsessed. He had started asking around the senior agents who had been present when the Knitting Ninja first started years ago. Clint had even gotten copies of the security footage the Knitting Ninja doctored, and the untouched footage from around the base on those same days.

Clint discovered that the Knitting Ninja didn’t follow any kind of identifiable schedule or pattern. The first Knitting Ninja incident was the most widespread with nearly a hundred scarves, hats, and gloves being hidden in gear bags ready for missions or mixed in with people’s belongings.

There had been a few other incidents, like with Fury’s eye patches and a knitted parrot that people mentioned in hushed whispers, or the gun cozy Maria Hill had found her favorite rifle in on her bed. Clint was a little bit jealous of that cozy for his bow, and if he could discover who the Knitting Ninja was, then perhaps he could convince/bribe (or maybe even blackmail) the person into making him a bow cozy.

Clint was going over the notes he had collected on the Knitting Ninja, just to see if he was missing anything, while sprawled out across the couch in Coulson’s office. He had been surprised at how comfortable he was with his handler, given that the guy had recruited Clint by shooting him in his leg. After the recovery, then the training, and going through handlers like it was going out of style, he hadn’t expected to get assigned to Coulson as an agent. But he didn’t get rid of Clint. Even when he was being contrary and combative, Coulson just gave him a bland look. Eventually Clint realized that Coulson wasn’t going to drop him, and finally relaxed.

Which was why he didn’t even move when Coulson’s office door opened, since someone would have to have one hell of a death wish to break into Coulson’s office without permission (Clint studiously ignored the fact that that was, in fact, exactly what he did).

“If you would dedicate as much attention to your reports as to these— why are you researching the Knitting Ninja, Barton?” Coulson picked up a few files that detailed the first Knitting Ninja reports that had fallen off the couch.

“Because we are a super-secret spy agency, but no one’s been able to figure out who the Knitting Ninja is?” Clint hedged, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

Coulson just looked at him, one eyebrow climbing up his forehead. Clint like to call it Coulson’s I-will-know-when-you-lie-and-you-will-regret-it face.

“It’s just that, they would have to be really good, like scarily good, to not be caught by now. So I kinda want to figure out how they’re doing it so I can use my tricks for my…infiltration practice,” Clint hesitated, looking at Coulson. He just waited for Clint to continue. “I also want to see if I could maybe /convince/ the person to make me a cozy for my bow, like Hill got for her gun.”

“A cozy for your...bow?” Coulson repeated.

“My bow is a delicate lady, she’s sensitive in the cold,” Clint muttered defensively.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you actually use a bow, we have you with a rifle so you don’t leave as obvious a calling card,” Coulson murmured, giving Clint a considering look. “Have you used it since you were recruited?”

“You mean when you shot me?” Clint asked. Which, really, he should have expected that answer-me-or-no-one-will-find-your-body look.

“Only enough to keep myself and my girl limber,” He answered.

“Then let’s see what you can do. Meet me on the range in twenty minutes,” Coulson said.

Clint looked at him with utter confusion, not sure if Coulson really meant what Clint thought he meant, then, “Nineteen minutes, Agent Barton.” And he hopped to, feeling giddy at finally being able to show off his real skills.

\---

Clint clutched his bow to his body, “Really, sir?!”

“Yes, Barton, you can use your bow on mission,” Coulson looked faintly amused at Clint’s disbelief. “R&D is working on a quiver for you and a new bow that will be collapsible.”

“I’ll get a new bow?” Clint wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On one hand, his bow with all her memories would be safe from being destroyed on missions, but on the other hand, he wasn’t sure R&D would be able to make him a proper bow that could /also/ collapse. Coulson must have been able to understand what he was thinking from the look on his face.

“You will be helping with this since you know how a bow should feel and where the best places would be for the frame to be collapsible.”

Clint nodded in agreement. Relieved to be able to make sure his new bow would be constructed properly and excited to help design a /bow/. He couldn’t believe it!

Coulson was clearly able to read him, again, and his lips quirked in response to the naked enthusiasm in Clint’s eyes.

“Who knows, Barton, if the Knitting Ninja sees you with that bow of yours, you /may/ get that bow cozy you want,” Coulson gave a little, barely there, smile.

Clint laughed, delighted at Coulson’s dry sense of humor, then sobered at the reminder of his mystery.

“What do /you/ think of the Knitting Ninja, sir?” Clint asked, the Knitting Ninja seemed to be on Coulson’s level of good, so who better to ask? “Nobody seems to be able to figure out who they are or how they’re able to cover their tracks.”

“Perhaps they are a very private person,” responded Coulson.

“Or think it’s hilarious to watch everyone lose their minds every time a knit good mysteriously pops up,” countered Clint. The skin around Coulson’s eyes crinkled a bit in another smile.

“Maybe it’s both,” Coulson murmured with another little eye wrinkle.

Coulson left Clint to his research after that, for all the good it did. Coulson was either uninterested in finding out who the Knitting Ninja was or already knew who they were (which Clint thought was way more likely). He just gave Clint a faint look of amusement every time he saw him with his research.

It didn’t help that the Knitting Ninja went back into hiding after the gloves for Clint. He shelved his research for the most part, pulling it out every so often to see if he missed anything before, and kept an ear out for any mention of new Knitting Ninja antics.

Come Christmas time, Clint found a small box wrapped up in dark green paper just sitting on his bed after he came back from the range. Folded inside was a bow cozy in a deep royal purple with little arrow patterns in bright purple, almost the exact same shade as his old circus costume. Clint had never been so thrilled with a Christmas gift in his life. When he pulled it out, a little card fell out. He picked it up off his bedspread, noting that it was made of a heavy cardstock in off-white. A cute little ninja knitting a little red scarf was hand drawn on it.

Clint fell a little bit in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely did not intend for Clint to start crushing on the KN, but Clint does what Clint wants. If anyone has an idea of what I should do next, please let me know!  
> Also, I am currently in China! I'm teaching English at a university and I've been here since the middle of September. First two weeks were hell on me and I was desperate to leave, but I am finally getting used to everything here. One of the biggest issues is that the interned connection I have is terrible, so if I don't respond to comments for a while, please don't be upset. I have been writing a lot more now that I have a ridiculous amount of free time, so I am planning on posting a lot more often!


	5. Where Fury is Paranoid

Fury had been planning on having a stress free day, or as close to stress-free as his days could get. Which was why he was glaring at the innocuous little package sitting on his desk. He didn’t know how the package got on his desk, and that meant that there was a security breach somewhere that had just been exploited.

He moved slowly and carefully, just in case it was a bomb or something else on a delicate trigger. Luckily he kept a few tricks in his desk, just for this type of occasion. R&D had out done themselves by creating something that could detect explosives and chemicals, and give a detailed reading of what was in a given area. Fury waved the reader stick, he had forgotten what the technical term was, over the package and waited for the results to pop up on the screen.

Everything read as non-toxic and non-explosive. Fury frowned and did it again. Same results. He would just have to open it and hope that whoever snuck it into his office wasn’t intending to kill him, unless the thing R&D made wasn’t working. A bit of a toss-u sometimes with R&D.

Fury stared at the package suspiciously, easing himself into a more convenient position so he could throw himself across the room if it became necessary. He slit open the package and nothing happened. It felt very anti-climatic. Maybe he was getting too paranoid. He shook himself and upended the package over his desk to find…eye patches?

What the everlasting fuck? Someone snuck into his office to leave fucking eye patches on his desk. He almost admired the gumption of it. Fury picked one of them up, and examined it critically. It was knitted with a—was that a fucking skull and crossbones pattern? He picked up another with a cyborg lazer eye and another with a snipers cross-sights.

Someone broke into his goddamned office to leave fucking knit eye patches for him? Who the fuck would have the gall to—Fury heaved a sigh. That incident a few days ago, the entire base had gone mad with the sudden influx of random knit goods. He had heard rumors of course, and knew no one had been able to track the individual responsible or figure out who they were. Which, really. They were supposed to be a fucking spy agency, the /best/ given how often they poached from other branches of the government. 

He had written it off as harmless though, a good test for his agents (at which they failed miserably) and something to keep them occupied in their downtime.  
The fact that this /person/ had managed to break into his office (he wasn’t getting over /that/ anytime soon) without setting off any alarms to leave him hand-made eye patches. Well. The threat level of whoever-the-fuck-it-was just jumped a few places. This was what he got for employing so many goddamn ninjas. Coulson, Hill, May, even goddamn Barton. Now he had a ninja that knits. Heh. A knitting ninja. Well, if the shoe fits, Fury shrugged mentally.

Fury rubbed each of the eye patches with a cotton swab and sent them down to a lab for analysis. Then he would see if all the earlier incidents were to lull them into a false sense of security.

The lab put anything Fury sent to them on high priority, so it only took a day for them to get back to him. All results negative, read the report. Fury glared at it, then at the eye patches still sitting on the desk, and heaved a heavy sigh.

He pulled off his plain black eye patch and slid on the skull and crossbones one. It would be rude to refuse such a warm and thoughtful gift like this. Especially when it could be used to terrify and traumatize his less experienced agents. Fury smirked and planned his next foray out of the office.

\---

Fury was pleased so far with the results of his experiment. Almost all the agents who saw his new eye patch and did the expected double take immediately blanched, gasped or had a what-the-fuck look come across their face. He was given points to the agents that didn’t even bat an eye (even if it was disappointing to his little maniacal heart).

He had been looking forward to surprising reactions out of a few particular agents, namely Maria Hill and Phil Coulson. So the fact that they hadn’t reacted the way he had /wanted/ them to shouldn’t have been as disappointing as it was.

Maria had only remarked “The new eye patch suits your aesthetic better than your plain ones, sir.” With a completely blank face.

Phil just blandly asked, “Should we be expecting a parrot to be added to your wardrobe as well, sir?”

Fucking Barton looked like Christmas had come early for him, rather than the gob smacked look Fury had wanted to see on that pain-in-the-asses’ face.

Of course, he did wear the other eye patches every so often just to fuck with people, but the pirate one was his favorite. He, of course, didn’t have this realization until a week before Halloween. When the fucking Knitting Ninja broke into his office again to leave a goddamn knitted parrot attached to a black harness for his shoulders. (He absolutely wore it for all of Halloween and made a junior agent faint in terror.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to rework this chapter a little bit because of a comment that was too good not to use. Sorry if it is a little bit short, but my next chapter in the works looks like it will be a good bit longer!


	6. Meeting the Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, especially anything of Marvel's

“Suit up, Barton,” Coulson ordered upon entering his office, having accepted that Clint had laid claim to his couch in his downtime. “We have a mission.”

Clint went from lounging to alert in a split second at Coulson’s announcement.

“What’s the mission?” Clint asked, bookmarking his page in _the Hobbit_.

Coulson just quirked an eyebrow at him and just replied, “With me, Barton.”

“C’mon, Coulson, just a hint?” Clint whined, making Coulson sigh.

“I know you can be patient, Barton. You can sit in a perch for twelve hours, but you can’t wait the five minutes it takes to walk to the briefing room?” Coulson asked with a faint air of amusement.

“I’ve told you it’s different, sir,” Clint pouted.

“Yet it is still incomprehensible to me,” Clint sometimes wondered how serious Coulson was when he said that.

Clint followed Coulson all the way to the briefing room in an over exaggerated sulk. Once they reached the briefing room, he fell into a chair just to sell the sulk a little more effectively. Coulson just huffed a small laugh. Clint felt a little thrill of accomplishment at getting even that small emotive response.

A few more agents filed into the room and Clint straightened out of his sulk and adopted his resting bitch face. Once everyone was seated and paying attention, the briefing began.

\---

Clint felt a shiver of fear up his spine after Coulson got to the mission objective. It nearly amounted up to suicide. The mission was to find and neutralize the Black Widow.

\---

Phil watched Barton read the file on the Black Widow, Natasha Romanov, with a little frown on his face. He felt concern at that frown. It was a considering frown, not a mission frown. (Phil did his best not to think about why he categorized the different expressions on Barton’s face)

That Barton face meant trouble, especially given how he rarely put that much dedication into _knowing_  a subject that well. Phil had only seen Barton read the reports on the Knitting Ninja with that much dedication. (Phil also refused to acknowledge how smug he was at his alter ego being worth that intense attention)

\---

Clint had the file on Natasha Romanov spread out on the floor of Coulson’s office. It was (almost) as interesting as the file on the Knitting Ninja, although the Black Widow file was a much more serious issue. He was trying to sort out the kills attributed to the Black Widow into different piles. One pile for the kills where she was intentionally vicious or cruel and one for the quick and relatively painless kills.

That’s where Clint was stuck. The harsher kills were for the people who were awful human beings. The ones involved in human trafficking or abusers. She didn’t torture people who didn’t deserve it, he had double and triple checked.

At this point, he wasn’t sure he could take her out. Clint couldn’t help but identify with her a little bit. There had been a few times when he had decided against a quick and painless kill and aimed somewhere a little more painful just to make some asshole suffer a little bit more.

Clint started cleaning up after checking the clock. He didn’t want Coulson to come back to the mess Clint had made of his office. He had just pulled out a book to get in some reading when Coulson strode his office door.

“Hey Coulson, I jus-” Clint started to say, but Coulson interrupted him.

“Wheels up in twenty, Barton,” Coulson ordered. “We have Romanov’s next target.”

Clint was up and out the door as soon as Coulson stopped speaking. They hadn’t expected to get intel for at least another week, so his go-bag was only half filled.

\---

“I have eyes on the target, sir,” Barton huffed into his comm.

“Do not engage,” Phil responded. “We want to know who she is meeting before anything else happens.”

“Yes, sir,” Barton confirmed before going silent.

Phil still felt worried, Clint had been worryingly quiet since they had gotten on the transport. It was making Phil nervous. He had a feeling something was going to go wrong, and he could only hope it wouldn’t get Barton killed. Phil clicked the comms back on.

“Barton, the individual we think is making contact with the Black Widow is approaching from the East. He’s about five eleven, business casual, with a fedora,” Phil informed Barton.

“I see him,” Barton replied. “He’s approaching the target, I think he’s our guy for sure.”

“Smith has his eyes on him, you focus on the Widow,” Phil ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Barton confirmed.

Phil pushed his concern out of his mind, hoping nothing would go wrong.

\---

Coulson was going to kill him. He just knew it. Clint had opted to ignore orders and engaged the Black Widow. Not even the way he was supposed to, killing her just struck him wrong for some reason.

Clint was wondering what had possessed him to think this was a good idea. He held his hands up, staring down the barrel of the Black Widow’s gun.

“You are here to kill me,” Romanov stated boldly.

“I’m supposed to, yeah,” Clint swallowed. “But I was wondering if you would consider another…avenue of employment?”

“And I am to expect…” She trailed off, raising an imperious eyebrow expectantly.

Clint hastily filled in, “SHIELD! The Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.”

“I am to expect SHIELD to want a prolific assassin with a dubious past among their numbers?” She finishes.

“Well, they did for me,” Clint answered.

“Oh?” Romanov’s eyes narrowed.

“I even get healthcare and dental. The cafeteria is shit, but I can afford to eat good food, and I get a berth on the base. So, it’s worth it I think, to feel safe, to come in from the cold,” Clint was going a bit cross-eyed with how close the gun was getting to his face.

“Do you even have the authority to make this offer?” She asks, lip curled.

“My handler does, he’s the one who recruited me,” Clint responded, holding his breath as she cocked her head in thought.

A moment later, she lowered her gun and said. “I will meet your agent…”

“He’s Agent Coulson. I’m Clint Barton,” Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

Now he just had to get in contact with Coulson.

\---

Phil was going to kill Barton. He had slipped away without notifying anyone, probably doing something that would get him killed. He had a very strong feeling that this disappearing act involved another deadly assassin. One he was _supposed_  to eliminate.

His phone rang, and he answered without looking, knowing it was Barton.

“You better have a damn good reason for disobeying orders, Barton,” He snapped.

“Yes, sir,” Phil didn’t believe the meek response for a moment. “I made contact with Romanov.”

Phil felt his breath freeze in his chest.

“She wants to talk to you, and maybe join SHIELD?” Barton sounded as though he was surprised by this turn of events as well.

“Bring her in then,” Phil sighed, feeling a tension headache set in.

“Yes, sir.”

\---

Clint was waiting in Coulson’s office, perched on his couch. The Black Widow, Natasha Romanov, was still in being interviewed/interrogated by Coulson to determine how SHIELD was going to deal with her. At this point, Clint was about to start clawing at the walls from stress.

The door clicked open and Clint perked up, honing in on Coulson.

“Well?” He demanded.

“Miss Romanov has accepted our terms and is on probation for one year.”

Clint began to let out a wild whoop, but it was quickly killed under Coulson’s annoyed gaze.

“Sir, I’m sorry--” Clint started feebly, before Coulson interrupted his apology before it could come out.

“Sorry for what exactly? Disobeying a direct order? Going off on your own? Without backup! Without telling _me_?” Coulson’s voice was low and cutting, heavy with anger.

Clint felt his stomach drop like it usually would in a freefall, it was only through sheer will that he didn’t stagger backwards.

“I didn’t think--” Clint felt like his tongue was lead in his mouth, his gut churning.

“No, you didn’t think,” Coulson visibly got himself back under control and took a deep breath before continuing. “You’re back on probation for three months,” Clint opened his mouth, ready to object, but he shut it when Coulson shot him a poisonous glare. “Which means restricted range time and access. If you are put on assignment, they’ll be milk runs. You will be on your best behavior or your probation will be extended another three months.”

Clint nodded  stiffly, realizing that he should really try not to push Coulson on this. Coulson in turn examined him, but appeared satisfied with what he saw.

“During the course of your probation, you will be reassigned to Agent Sitwell,” Clint must have made a really pathetic noise at that, because Coulson seemed to thaw a little. He continued in a softer tone. “Once you are off probation, then you will have me as a handler again. Agent Sitwell is your temporary handler.”

Clint felt like he was able to breathe again. Only temporarily reassigned. He could handle that.

\---

Natasha Romanov had always been a cautious woman. The offer she received from SHIELD was unexpected and she treated it with due suspicion. However, she was also tired. She had bone deep exhaustion from avoiding her former…employers. Weary of hiding and constantly moving, not having a place to just be and to _rest_.

So she risked her life, her freedom, on the words of the agent sent to kill her, but who looked at her with uncomfortable understanding.

Now Natasha was halfway through her probationary status as an Agent of SHIELD, going to seminars and training, and  attending debriefings so SHIELD could fill in the gaps of their data on the KGB and Red Room. The training was laughably easy, the seminars informative if boring, and the debriefings _thorough_.

Once SHIELD was satisfied she was giving up good information and behaving, she was assigned to a handler. The same one in charge of Agent Clint Barton and who negotiated her entrance into SHIELD. So far her impression of him was deceptively mild-mannered, appearing at first and second glance to be unassuming and bland. He had proved to be undeniably competent, and junior agents spoke of him with awe and respect.

Natasha froze when she wandered into her quarters and her attention snapped out of her reverie. Someone had broken into her room and left a box on her desk. She cautiously approached, listening and looking for any indication of it being dangerous.

Carefully, she eased open the lid of the box. She chanced a look inside, seeing knitted fabric and a little card on top. Natasha used a knife to ease the card open all the way, cautious of contact poisons.

It simply said: _**Welcome to SHIELD – The Knitting Ninja.**_

Natasha frowned, not entirely sure what the Knitting Ninja was or why they would leave a box of knit-wear for her to find. She pulled out her SHIELD issued phone and called Coulson.

“Yes, Romanov?” He answered.

“What is the Knitting Ninja?” Natasha didn’t bother with pleasantries.

There was a pause, before Coulson said anything. “The Knitting Ninja is someone in SHIELD, who has yet to be identified, that occasionally leaves people random knitted items. Everyone has, at some point, received at least a hat or scarf from them.” Another pause, and Natasha waited. “Did you hear about it from somewhere or receive something?”

“I received a box, I didn’t want to inspect the contents until I knew what it was for. It had a note welcoming me to SHIELD,” Natasha answered readily. “Where can I get more information on this Knitting Ninja?”

“Agent Barton is our resident expert on the Knitting Ninja, he’s collected any and all information about them that he could find. He’s off probation, so you’ll be able to find him in one of the breakrooms or in the canteen this time of day.” Coulson told her.

“Thank you, Agent Coulson,” Natasha was already spinning around and out the door before she even heard a reply.

\---

“Barton,” Clint spun around, not having realized that he had company. He was surprised to see Natasha though. Granted, if anyone could sneak up on him besides Coulson, it would be her.

“Hey! You’re halfway through probation, aren’t you? How’s it going?” He was happy to see her comfortable to explore around the accessible parts of the base.

“Some of the agents think I’ll snap now that I’ve lulled everyone else into a false sense of security,” There was a tiny glint of amusement in her eye at this.

“Yeah, SHIELD agents are encouraged to have a pretty healthy level of paranoia,” Clint agreed easily. “Anyway, was there something you need?”

“I want to know everything you know about the Knitting Ninja,” Natasha stated.

A slow grin stole over Clint’s face, and he smugly said “Well then, you’re in luck. I am something of an expert on the mysterious Knitting Ninja.”

\---

Natasha and Clint spent hours peering at reports and videos, trying to see if anything had been missed up to that point. Then they went back to Natasha’s bunk to see if there were any new clues to be discovered.

Unfortunately, the Knitting Ninja had been even more careful when leaving the box in the Black Widow’s room, and had left nothing to indicate who they might be.

\---

Phil had wondered whether it was a good idea or not to give Romanov any of the usual Knitting Ninja gifts. If anyone had a better chance of figuring him out than Barton or Fury, it would be her. He hadn’t expected her to team up with Barton to investigate, but it wasn’t actually that surprising. It would be interesting, though, to see if, when, and how quickly they figured it out together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooow it has been a long time since I added anything to this. I've just had this chapter sitting in my notebook because I couldn't be bothered to type it up.. oops?  
> Anyway, here it is!


	7. Willie Warmer

Clint hated missions that included a) snow, b) sub-zero temperatures, c) potential frostbite, d) lying facedown in a nest for hours at a time. This latest mission included blankets of snow, dropping into freezing temperatures while he was still in his nest and potential frostbite on his _dick_. He was still trying to thaw himself out, and he really wasn’t looking forward to another mission risking such a vital part of his anatomy.

But how to keep his junk from freezing? The internet provided an interesting answer: willie warmers. Soldiers would sometimes wear socks on their dicks so they wouldn’t freeze off. He supposed he could just do that, but something in him balked at wearing a _sock_  on his dick.

He, of course, went to Natasha to complain, but she just rolled her eyes at him and threw his precious fingerless gloves at him. He caught them and curled protectively around them with a pout at her over her mistreatment of his favorite gifts.

His hands smoothed over the soft, smooth, and deliciously warm yarn. He hummed considering the possibilities, and looked back at Natasha who had an expectant eyebrow raised again. If the gloves were shaped a bit differently, they would be perfect for his dick. He grinned at Natasha and skittered off to do more research.

\---

He had checked out a few places to buy willie warmers during his initial research, but didn’t really want someone else’s knitwear on that sensitive part of his body. But, how to convince the Knitting Ninja, who he had never actually met, to make him a _willie warmer_? Gloves were one thing, but something specifically worn on the dick was a whole 'nother ball game.

Clint found his answer in expensive silk wool blends that he doubted the Knitting Ninja would buy for themselves, but would be the fine quality yarn that they would love. At least, that’s what the shopkeeper and knitting group told him when he wandered into the nearest yarn shop he could find. He bought a nice variety in a couple of different colors and gauges, since he had no idea what the Knitting Ninja would prefer. Edith, the owner of Purl Two, was very helpful in explaining the basics of yarn to him. He was expected back next week for cookies and tea, unless he had a mission interrupt it.

A nice nondescript bag to put the yarn in and he was set to make the offer and, hopefully, trade. Because Clint had absolutely zero shame and a tendency towards mischief, he decided to make the offer during the lunch rush in the canteen…while standing on a table. Sue him, it would absolutely insure everyone at SHIELD heard the offer, and most importantly, the Knitting Ninja. He was just being effective.

The junior agents all started whispering, wondering if this was some kind of test. Everyone else was more or less used to Clint’s antics at that point, so no one really paid any mind past a quick glance until he opened his mouth.

“I’ve got an offer for the Knitting Ninja,” Clint started, making sure to have his Resting Bitch Face present and accounted for. “I will leave twelve skeins of Koigu Mori silk/wool blend in a nondescript bag at a location of your choice if you make me,” Clint paused for a microsecond so he could control the glee trying to make it into his voice. “a couple willie warmers so I don’t literally freeze my dick off in the course of completing my missions. That’s all.”

Clint hopped off his table, pleased with the chaos he left in his wake as well as a sure way of having the Knitting Ninja hear of the offer.

Natasha was waiting near one of the doors with a laugh dancing in her eyes. Clint was about to make his way to her when he saw Coulson at the corner of his eye.

“Really, Barton,” Coulson’s voice was as dry as that mission in Arizona last month.

Clint grinned cheerfully at him.

“Sorry, sir, but it’s not like the Knitting Ninja has an email I could just shoot a request off to,” Clint pulled an innocent, wide eyed look. “This was the next best thing.”

“And I’m sure you considered every possible avenue,” Clint felt like he should be at least a little bit insulted by the politely disbelieving tone.

“It hurts that you have so little faith in me, Coulson,” Clint theatrically clutched at his chest, but silently reveled in the slight upturn on Coulson’s lips.

\---

After Phil got back to his apartment that night, he fell onto his couch and just laughed and laughed until he was gasping for breath between periodic giggles.

“Who stands on a table in a crowded room to ask someone to make _willie warmers_?!” Phil wondered out loud, once he got his breathing back under control.

After looking up willie warmers on Google, Phil lost it again. Still, it wasn’t a big deal. Good quality yarn that he usually couldn’t justify purchasing himself in exchange for things that would go on Barton’s…dick. Now he was thinking about it. ‘Don’t think about Barton’s penis or that he would be wearing something on it that I made with..my..hands.’

Phil didn’t think he would be able to look Barton in the face again if it weren’t for his extensive training and cultivated blank expression. If Fury couldn’t see through it during poker nights when he was completely soused, then Barton wouldn’t be able to see through it. He promised himself a few more minutes of mirth before he put his serious face on for good.

A few hours of researching, with periodic breaks to laugh, and Phil had plenty of patterns for different kinds of willie warmers. He was having trouble narrowing down his choices, just from how many _varieties_ of style there were. Like jock, shorts, draw string, _novelty_ …

Pursing his lips, Phil flipped through the patterns again slowly. It’s just that he had an opportunity here. He could, of course, just give Barton the most effective willie warmers with no frills and no fun…but why not go the extra mile, so to speak, and include a few of the novelty kind? He was sure Barton would find it hilarious, and he wasn’t likely to get offended at the additions. Phil just wasn’t sure if the _Knitting Ninja_ should express that kind of familiarity with Barton.

‘ _fuck it_ ’ Phil thought to himself, and grinned while he began to select a few of his favorite novelty patterns to go with the more utilitarian patterns. He knew he had a nice selection of yarn somewhere that would be perfect against the delicate skin of – Phil blushed before he forbade himself from finishing that thought.

\---

Clint didn’t want to admit it, but he was sulking. He must have come on too strong for the Knitting Ninja, or made them uncomfortable with his request. He had gotten absolutely nothing. Nada. Zip. To indicate the Knitting Ninja would make him the willie warmers, let alone anything else ever again.

He’d had the feeling that the Knitting Ninja had liked him, maybe even more that Nick Fury or Maria Hill. Clint had at least gotten more things that he had requested. The things Fury and Hill had gotten were more like pranks than anything else, designed to feed their rampant paranoia.

It was while he was sulking, this time on the range so he could properly shoot his feelings away, that Coulson found him. Clint had been intimidating junior agents with his (rather impressive) glower, when Coulson made a little noise of amusement from behind him. Clint managed to avoid jumping, but spun around to glare a little at Coulson.

“You have got to stop doing that, sir,” Clint snapped. “Someday I’ll accidently shoot you or something!”

Coulson narrowed his eyes at Clint, realizing something was wrong. Clint never snapped at him.

“What’s going on, Barton?” Coulson began giving him a visual once over to check for any unreported injuries. Something that was far too common an occurrence in his opinion.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Clint turned and stomped his way to the lockers, feeling a little like an angsty teenager.

Coulson silently followed Clint, content to wait him out. Clint didn’t want to give in so easily, but he knew Coulson could out-stubborn him if he felt like he had to.

“I haven’t gotten anything from the Knitting Ninja, so they either didn’t get my request, which I doubt, or I insulted them with my request and pissed them off,” Clint paused for a moment, before quietly confessing. “I might have gotten attached after the bow cozy.”

Coulson was quiet for a moment, and Clint kept his eyes on the ground not wanting to see judgement or exasperation from him. Then Coulson huffed out a breath and chuckled. Clint snapped his head up to stare at Coulson, hurt that he would laugh at him.

“Barton, you have this gift for gaining either deep rage or befuddled affection from everyone you meet. No in between. Judging by the past actions of the Knitting Ninja, I’m going with befuddled affection. If he hated you, you wouldn’t have gotten the gloves or bow cozies,” Coulson gave a small grin at Clint’s expression, shell shocked and  hopeful.

“At this point the Knitting Ninja should know about your ability to make nearly everything you say inappropriate, so I wouldn’t worry about getting those…willie warmers you requested.”

Clint just gaped at Coulson, touched that he was willing to comfort Clint about this and by _hearing_ him say ‘willie warmer’. Coulson didn’t seem to expect a response anyway, just nodding at Clint and walking off. Clint sat down with a hard thump, feeling a bit weak in the knees. His heart felt like his heart was simultaneously trying to beat double time and combust.

‘oh.’ He thought. ‘I’ve got it _bad._ ’

\---

Phil sped up once he turned the corner out of Barton’s sight. The package was ready, but there was one more thing he could add, to make it even better and to set Barton at ease.

He would have to be exact in his timing to make sure Barton didn’t catch him or accidently draw suspicion to himself. That was fine though. Barton wasn’t the only one who could navigate via the ventilation shafts. He also wouldn’t put it past him to booby trap his bunk or have a security feed set up to catch any interlopers in his room.

\---

After running into Coulson earlier, Clint had been completely thrown off his game. He couldn’t remember anything from the seminar he sat through, and he went back to the range for long enough that his entire upper body felt like angry jello.

He’d stumbled his way back to his bunk, wondering if Natasha was back from that super-secret mission she was on and if he could bug her, and was halfway to flopping onto his mattress when he realized a box was in his way. He immediately twisted his body to avoid landing on the box, but didn’t account for his muscles seizing up in pain.

Clint blinked up at the ceiling from where he landed on the floor. “Aw, body, no.”

Eventually Clint was able to heave himself up after berating himself about not working himself into a similar state ever again. He sat down heavily next to the box so he could just drag it onto his lap. He tried to tamp down his excitement at the box (the Knitting Ninja wasn’t mad at him!) and opened up the flaps to see…an elephant face? Clint looked at it for a moment in abject confusion and then picked it up. Realization hit him when he realized it was a novelty willie warmer in the shape of an elephants head with a hollow trunk for his dick.

Clint kept pulling out willie warmer after willie warmer, a few novelty ones like the elephant, but also shorts and draw string and jock strap styles. At the very bottom of the box was an eight by eleven piece of heavy cardstock with a little sticky note attached to it. Written in the Knitting Ninja’s pretty cursive was “please leave the yarn in the third floor breakroom’s vent” and another stylized ninja holding knitting needles like knives with a little ball of yarn was attached to one by a string. Clint smoothed his fingers over the little figure and set it carefully onto his small desk.

Then Clint held up the bigger piece of cardstock it had been attached to. The paper was bisected by a line down the middle and a line near the top. Above the top line was a little cartoon Knitting Ninja on the left column and a little cartoon Hawkeye on the right. There a little dashmark in the column under the Knitting Ninja. Clint began to cackle and had to set the paper aside before he damaged it. Once he got himself under control and finished wiping the tears from his eyes, he picked the paper back up and looked around at his bare walls, trying to find the perfect spot to hang it up.

That done, he looked from the willie warmers still strewn out on his bed and at the competitive chart sitting pretty on his wall.

“Oh, it’s on!” Clint laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested this a while back, and it has been sitting half finished for a while. So I finally decided to finish and post it!


	8. New Skills and Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally meant for this to be a short chapter, but it just kept going and went places I didn't plan at all. So I hope you enjoy it? Let me know if I made any mistakes at all, I read it over a couple times but I might have missed something. Happy holidays everyone!
> 
> A/N Still own zero things in regards to Phil Coulson, Clint Barton and Marvel in general

At some point in his research on the Knitting Ninja, Clint developed a bit of an interest in how the Knitting Ninja created all the scarves and goods that he so adored. It started with his monthly catalogue of all the things he had ever received from the Knitting Ninja. As was his usual habit, he ended up petting his first gift, the delightfully soft fingerless gloves. This time he also admired the way the gloves were put together. It occurred to him at that moment that he had no idea how the Knitting Ninja made all of the things they did. Clint looked a bit closer at the gloves, gently stretching one so he could get a closer look at the stitching.

 

“How does this even work?” Clint muttered to himself.

 

Of course Clint _really_ couldn’t call himself an expert on the Knitting Ninja if he had no idea how the Knitting Ninja knit. So he threw himself into the research with his usual aplomb. Looking through patterns online quickly became overwhelming, but he was able to identify the names of a few of the patterns on his own items. After a few hours of staring at a screen, seemingly _endless_ patterns, and hours of videos of cheerful knitting how-to’s, Clint finally stepped back with a pounding headache.

 

After a good nights rest, Clint decide he should maybe consult an expert, if only to get a better idea of where to start.

 

So that’s how Clint came to be explaining his predicament to Mrs. Edith Wharton at Knitting Knots. This somehow resulted in Clint holding a set of knitting needles and a ball of yarn in his hands.

 

Any protest Clint halfheartedly tried to make was met with a scoff from Edith.

 

“The best way to understand how your mysterious friend makes all these lovely things is by doing it yourself.” She punctuated with a nod.

 

Clint figured that made enough sense not to argue further so he meekly sat down as Edith pointedly directed him to a cushy looking chair.

 

“Now, dear, this is how you cast on...” and so Clint came to learn under the steady and exacting tutelage of Edith.

 

A few hours later, with additional lessons in gauges, types of yarn, patterns...Clint felt very much overwhelmed, but satisfied. Hell, he was even a little excited to see his own hands making the beginnings of a scarf, albeit a wonky one. It made him wonder how the Knitting Ninja had felt when they first started knitting.

 

“Can I come back, Edith? Just  every so often. My work hours are kinda all over the place.” Clint pulled out the best puppy dog eyes in his repertoire to sway Edith a bit more.

 

Edith just snorted at him and shook her head, amused at his antics.

 

“Anytime, dear. I host the occasional lesson if there are any particular skills you want to learn, but if not you can come whenever you please.” Edith gave his hand a pat and went to help a young lady that entered the shop.

 

Clint began to pack up his newly acquired knitting equipment and partially finished scarf, before Edith returned to reorganize his things and chase him out of the store. He left as she was ordering him to visit soon so she could check on his progress and make sure he didn’t forget any of her lessons. Clint happily shouted agreed before he was suddenly out on the street with bags hanging off his arms and a couple hundred dollars lighter.

 

Still, it was a cheerful Clint that returned to the base, ready to try his hand at knitting by himself.

 

After some thought, Clint decided not to tell anyone but Natasha about his knitting. He certainly wasn’t ashamed of it, but he wanted to at least be good at it before he did it publicly. Clint could admit to himself that there were two people in particular he didn’t want seeing him struggle to knit.

 

Coulson had always been rather impressed with how quickly Clint picked up new skills, and Clint had made it a personal goal to never do something that would make Coulson doubt that. He had only disappointed Coulson once since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. and it had been an awful experience. He also thought Coulson might have popped out of the womb fully competent. Actually, the idea that Coulson possibly wasn’t competent at every skill he had ever tried to acquire was almost physically painful.

 

Maybe Clint also wanted to see that look of delighted surprise that was rare coming from Coulson when Clint gave him a nice, warm handmade scarf. Those little smiles, eyes crinkled at the corners all directed at Clint. It kinda felt like his heart was being squeezed every time it happened. In hindsight, he should have realized he had a crush the second he started going out of his way to get Coulson to give him that look again.

 

Then there was the Knitting Ninja. Clint flopped over, carefully so he wouldn’t ruin his wonky little scarf, and gave a heartfelt groan. He could almost feel his admiration and interest in the Knitting Ninja becoming more. It was ridiculous, but he felt like he was kinda special to the Knitting Ninja. Anytime he needed something or requested a particular item, he would get it. The fingerless gloves, bow cozies, willie warmers... At the very least, he wanted to at least return the favor and give a scarf to the Knitting Ninja. If, for whatever reason, the Knitting Ninja didn’t like it, then it wasn’t like they would feel obligated to wear it to spare his feelings since he didn’t know their identity.

 

“Are you knitting?” Natasha’s habit of coming into his room without knocking for the sole purpose of surprising him was going to give him a heart attack one day.

 

“Yup. Thought it would be a good skill to pick up to keep my fingers limber.” Clint replied after getting his heart rate back down to a safer level, and checking to make sure he hadn’t damaged his scarf.

 

“ _You_ need help keeping your ‘fingers limber’?” Natasha repeated in a disbelieving tone.

 

Clint scowled at her. “Keep that up and you won’t be getting a scarf.”

 

Natasha made a sound that Clint would have called a snort if it wouldn’t have resulted in a stab would he didn’t want to explain to Coulson and medical.

 

Since Natasha seemed to be done harassing him at the moment, Clint settled back in to continue his knitting. Natasha curled up on the bed next to him to better watch him work.

 

After the evening Natasha always seemed to know when he was taking the time to knit, because she would somehow find him before he completed his fifth row. He never said anything about her just watching him or mentioned it when a pair of his aluminum needles disappeared.

 

“Hey, Natasha?” Clint had finally finished the scarf intended to give to the Knitting Ninja, but needed help getting the scarf to them.

 

“What?” Was her wary response. Half the time when he greeted her in that tone it was for a prank.

 

“I finished the Knitting Ninja’s scarf, but since I don’t know who they are I’m not sure how to give it to them...” Clint trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his question.

 

“And you don’t want anyone else to find out about your new hobby?” Natasha asked when it was clear he was stuck.

 

“Not yet at least, still wanna surprise a few people.” Clint said defensively.

 

Natasha gave a little hum of thought before replying. “You could make another request of the Knitting Ninja, or perhaps complain loudly and publicly about needing something. Then when the Knitting Ninja goes to deliver it you can leave a note so they know it’s a gift.”

 

“That could definitely work! Especially since he’s broken into my bunk for all the gifts following the first one.” Clint so exuberant that he swung Natasha around, and it was a testament to her comfort with him that she only made a halfhearted attempt at stabbing him.

 

And so the plan was implemented a week later when, due to a a tech’s mishandling of his equipment that he shouldn’t have been touching, one of his bow cozies got _ripped to shit_ when the bow it was encasing was damn near _pulverized_.

 

R&D was just going to redesign the bow, but the bow cozy was unsalvageable.

 

Clint was honestly more upset about the bow cozy since he had been on R&D for a couple of weeks to upgrade the bow anyway. When he had been informed about the damage to both bow and bow cozy, he’d been upset. When he actually  _saw_ the extent of the damage... well, Coulson had to actually hold him back so he wouldn’t beat the shit out of the terrified tech.

 

“Doctor Li, please make sure all of your personnel are familiar with the proper handling procedure of Agent Barton’s equipment and property,” even under a veneer of blandness Coulson managed to make the order cutting.

 

(If it hadn’t been for the situation, Clint would have starry eyes right that instant.)

 

Dr. Li nodded in agreement, lips pressed into a pale line and glaring glaring daggers at the tech.

 

Coulson then took the opportunity to drag Clint out of the room, the sad remains of the bow cozy cradled in his hands.

————————

Even though Phil knew how attached Barton was to the gifts he had gotten from the Knitting Ninja, he was still a little surprised by his agents’ response to the destruction of the bow cozy.

 

The anger was expected, but not the grief Clint showed while holding onto the scrap of fabric, curled protectively around it on his couch.

 

“Are you alright?” Phil asked Barton gently, unsure if he should interrupt his agents’ morose silence.

 

Barton’s frown dipped a bit deeper, but he still responded. “Yeah. It’s just stupid.” He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. “The bow needed to be upgraded anyway,  so I’m less upset about that than the bow cozy.” Here the scowl returned full force. “That was a gift, and now it’s in shreds.”

 

Phil nodded in sympathy. He let Barton sink back into his forlorn silence. Phil had a feeling that the news about Bartons’ losses would be all over the base within the next couple hours. So it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility for the “Knitting Ninja” to hear about it and decide to deliver a new bow cozy. Phil actually had a couple more ready for Barton, but he hadn’t wanted add to the rumors of blatant favoritism.

 

He sighed to himself, ‘ _it’s already a_ bit _too late for that_.’ After Barton’s stunt with the willie warmers a few other hopefuls attempted to do the same with no result.

 

It seemed like he would be making another journey through the vents to Bartons’ bunk. He could probably swing by in the next couple of days and drop off a few of the cozies he had made.

————————

“Okay. The Knitting Ninja usually comes when they know I’m not here, so I’ll just leave the scarf in this box on the bed where they leave most of their gifts,” After doing this Clint just stood there staring at the box.

 

Natasha could see Clint rethinking the whole thing, and just when he looked like he was going to call the whole thing off, she bodily dragged him out of the room leaving the box behind.

 

Clint seemed to consider making a break for it, but knew Natasha wouldn’t hesitate in rendering him incapable of moving for the next few hours, let alone getting away long enough to hide the scarf.

 

He just hoped the Knitting Ninja liked the scarf if they managed to get into his room before he got back.

————————

 _‘It’s now or in three weeks_ ,’ thought Phil. Barton had a full schedule for the whole day, which meant the Knitting Ninja had hours in which to break into his room and leave the bow cozies without the risk of getting caught. Natasha had made a pointed comment about training with Clint and all the other things that would be filling up his schedule. She had even gone so far as to provide Phil with the times and locations, which he already had as Clint’s handler.

As he slithered out of the vents he resigned himself to accepting that Natasha had somehow found out about his extra curricular activities. He landed on the floor with a quiet thump. _‘It was probably on that mission six weeks ago when I was drugged out of my mind with only Natasha and a few dead bodies for company.’_

 

Phil was so distracted by this realization that he didn’t notice the box on the bed until he went to drop his own box right on top of it.

 

There was a little sticky note on the box with a ninja leaping about drawn on it. Phil lightly touched it before reaching out to open it, since he could only assume it was meant for him. He pulled out a neatly folded scarf and blinked hard.

 

It was very soft and clearly handmade. ‘ _maybe alpaca_ ‘ was Phil’s vague thought. It was a bit uneven in some places and there were a couple dropped stitches, but it was carefully made.

 

Something crinkled in the folds of the scarf where he was gripping it. Phil shook it out a bit and a piece of paper fluttered out. He caught it before it hit the ground and opened it just to check that it was addressed to the Knitting Ninja, then he put it in his pocket to read later. He didn’t want to chance Clint deciding to slip out of his scheduled training and catching him in the act.

 

Phil, because Clint didn’t have a monopoly on pranks, decided to leave the box he had opened where it was and set the wrapped package of bow cozies inside it. He then closed the box so it would look like it was unopened and more importantly, like he hadn’t gotten the scarf.

 

It was maybe a little mean, but Clint’s reaction to the surprise and the trolling would be worth his temporary disappointment. With that thought, Phil carefully tucked his new scarf away so it wouldn’t get vent dust on it, and swung himself up and out of the room.

 

Once Phil was back in his office he got out of the suit he had used to traverse the ventilation system in. Having changed, he picked up the scarf, only giving himself a moment to sink his fingers into its soft folds before he squished it into the briefcase he was taking n he settled at his desk and pulled Clint’s note out of his pocket.

 

“Knitting Ninja,

I hope this isn’t weird, but I made you this scarf. You make me all these really amazing things and I guess I just wanted to return the favor. So I got a few lessons. You don’t have to wear it or keep it if you don’t like it. I know you can make much nicer things, but I wanted to give it to you anyway.

-Clint”

 

 

Phil felt himself blush, something he had managed to avoid doing at work for years. He wished he could just wear the scarf and show Clint how much he liked and appreciated the effort, but Clint didn’t know the Knitting Ninja and Phil Coulson were the same person. Phil also wasn’t sure how Clint would react to finding out that his handler was the one to make him all those things. _Especially_ the willie warmers.

 

He didn’t want Clint to see it as a betrayal, but Phil would understand if he did.

 

Phil sighed. No. Clint wouldn’t find out about his identity for now, but that didn’t mean Phil couldn’t wear the scarf outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. and places likely to be frequented by Clint. It would be _rude_ not to use such a thoughtful gift like that.

 

(In the end, Phil felt like he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was to how Clint found out)

————————

Clint had run out of yarn. It wouldn’t have been a big deal, but he finally had enough free time to try his hand at a new pattern. Unfortunately, his usual yarn shop, the Knitting Knot, was being renovated. So he was going to another shop that Edith recommended he try.

 

 _‘At least the place looks nice and homey,’_ Clint thought as he browsed the wool blends section. He had had the unfortunate experience of finding the most pretentious and unwelcoming yarn shops before he wandered into Knitting Knots. Once he found that shop, he had stuck to it. Which led to current predicament.

 

Now Natasha was expecting him to make a scarf for her. Clint rolled his eyes at her “request” now that she wasn’t here to stab him for it.

 

He had already found a nice soft merino wool that he thought Natasha would like, when his eyes landed on another skein of yarn that was a mix of dark colors with little bits of brighter colors peeking out. It reminded Clint of Coulson’s ties that subtly bucked the “Men in Black” trope. Clint stroked the yarn and considered whether or not Coulson would even accept a scarf from him. ‘ _Well, I’ll make him one anyway,_ ‘ Clint shrugged and put a few skeins in his basket.

 

It might have been because he was thinking of Coulson, but ‘ _this is getting ridiculous, now I’m hearing his voice in random places._ ‘ Clint turned around, ‘ _not my imagination, Coulson is here- is that my scarf?!_

 

Clint stared at Coulson, and it was definitely Coulson, being unusually oblivious to his surroundings, wearing the scarf Clint made for the Knitting Ninja.

 

Clint was internally reeling, outwardly reacting would only draw Coulson’s attention to him. He stiffly continued browsing, not that he had any idea what he was looking at right then.

 

All his brain could focus on was that Coulson _had_ to be the Knitting Ninja. It made so much sense in retrospect. Coulson’s bemusement at everyone’s reactions to the Knitting Ninja, the Knitting Ninja’s uncanny ability to avoid identification, the blatant favoritism of Clint, trolling _Fury_ with the eyepatches and parrot, how the Knitting Ninja always knew when to break into Clint’s room, the scarf that _Clint_ made for the _Knitting Ninja_ coiled around _Coulson’s_ throat...

 

He had to get out before Coulson saw him. If Coulson hadn’t told Clint yet, then it was probably for a good reason. Clint turned on his heel.. and ended up face to face with a surprised looking Coulson.

 

For a moment, neither of the  moved.

 

“You’re wearing my scarf.” Sometimes Clint felt like slapping himself.

 

Phil coughed, a bit pink in his cheeks (an image Clint resolved to revisit later).

 

“I- Yes, I am.” Phil glanced away.

 

“Do you like it?” ‘ _come on, Clint, get it together,_ he mentally berated himself.

 

Now Phil ducked his head down, flicking his eyes back up to meet Clint’s, with a soft grin. Clint was going to die from that look if he got it any more.

 

“It’s very comfortable,” Phil seemed to finally collect himself. Which was good for Clint’s sanity. He didn’t think he could handle any other additional changes to Coulson’s behavior.

 

“So, you’ve been the Knitting Ninja the whole time?” Clint really just wanted confirmation now.

 

“..Yes.” Phil looked a bit resigned at the admission.

 

“Why did you hide it?”

 

Phil gave a small embarrassed cough. “Well, I just—“ he stopped and closed his eyes as though pained. “Can we talk about this elsewhere?”

 

Clint nodded. “Just let me pay for these, and we can go...?” He trailed off.

 

“My apartment is nearby.” Phil offered.

 

Clint agreed and followed Phil up to the counter. He’d actually forgotten about the yarn he had picked out for Phil until he set it on the counter next to the hunters green he had found for Natasha.

 

“That’s lovely, is it merino?” Phil was looking at it covetously, and Clint felt a surge of pride at choosing so well.

 

“Yeah, figured it would be nice to work with.” Clint cleared his throat.

 

Phil nodded, and seemed like he was going to say something else but got interrupted by the shop keeper.

 

A few minutes later, Clint was walking down the street with Phil. Clint’s mind was still reeling a bit, and was, for once, very okay with the awkward silence. Too soon they were stepping into Phil’s apartment.

 

“Coffee?” Phil asked, putting his bag of yarn next to the coffee table.

 

“Sure.” Clint said as he watched him walk into the kitchen.

 

Once Phil was occupied with that Clint took the opportunity to look around. The place was nearly as neat as Phil’s office, but with more personal touches. Clint had known Phil was a Captain America fan, but some of his decoration pieces really drove that home.

 

“Here’s your coffee.”

————————

Phil should have realized something like this would happen. Now Clint was in his apartment and they were going to talk about Phil being the Knitting Ninja and why he kept it a secret for so long. Picking up the coffee, he braced himself before leaving the kitchen.

 

“Here’s your coffee.” He interrupted Clint’s examination of his apartment.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Then they just awkwardly sat there until Phil decided he should just answer Clint’s earlier question at the shop.

 

“I never really meant to hide it,” He paused, Clint’s eyes focused on him. “I just didn’t expect it to become such a big deal.”

 

Phil took a fortifying sip of coffee and continued.

 

“I had stopped knitting for a while during my service in the Rangers, and took it back up again when I became a handler as a way to work out the stress.” Here Phil paused, but Clint made an aborted motion as if to say ‘go on’.

 

“I ended up knitting so much that I had enough to give something to most people at the base. Everyone made a bigger deal of it than I thought they would.”

 

Here Clint huffed a bit in laughter. “I don’t know why you would have thought that. Paranoia is pretty much required of all personnel. Someone managing to sneak in that many knit goods and not leaving behind any evidence? Foot meet hornets nest.”

 

Phil chuckled. “Yes, well, I definitely underestimated how crazy it would get. After that it just became a fun and harmless challenge.”

 

Clint slowly nodded. “Why didn’t you ever say anything to _me_?” ‘ _After giving me the bow cozies and willie warmers_ ‘ went unsaid.

 

Phil took a deep breath. “It was flattering I suppose. You were just so fascinated with the Knitting Ninja, studying patterns and making requests,” he gave Clint a stern look when he seemed like he was about to interrupt. “I also didn’t think about how you might react until it was too late to admit it without it being ... weird.”

 

Clint chuckled at that. “I get it, I guess. Especially after the willie warmers.” He gave Phil a shit-eating grin then. “Which I especially loved.”

 

Phil snorted. “They may have been your favorite things to request, but we both know you love the bow cozies best.”

 

Clint’s grin softened at that. “True,” he admitted.

 

They were quiet for a moment, more comfortable than awkward this time.

 

Softly, Phil broke the silence. “I really do like the scarf by the way. It was a nice surprise to get it.”

 

“I’m glad. I was actually going to make you- Phil Coulson you- a scarf too. You were admiring the yarn I picked for it earlier.” Clint grinned.

 

“Was?” Phil asked, raising his eyebrows and trying, unsuccessfully, to fight back a smile.

 

“I am. Making the scarf for you still.” Clint cleared his throat. He was so distracted by the soft smile Phil was favoring him with that he didn’t even think before saying, “it’s kinda nice to know you and the Knitting Ninja are the same person so I don’t feel like I’m being unfaithful for loving both of you.”

 

It was only when Phil chocked on his sip of coffee that Clint realized he had said that out loud. To Phil. For an agonizing moment they just stared wide eyed at each other.

 

Then before Clint could try to take it back or escape out the window, Phil blurted out “So you wouldn’t object to going out to dinner then?”

 

“Not at all.” Clint responded just as fast. He grinned shyly at Phil, who responded with his own crinkle eyed smile.

————————

After dinner at a small hole-in-the-wall Italian place and returning to Phil’s apartment to burn off the calories, they ended up continuing the conversation further.

 

“You fell in love with both of my identities?”

 

“Yeah, but I will change my mind about it if you don’t put your hands back on me!”

 

“Who would you have picked if we had been two different people?”

 

“Really, Phil!? You’re literally _in_ me right now!”

 

Not that Clint respected the mood either.

 

“Have your thought about me in the willie warmers?”

 

“Clint, you just yelled at me for asking a question like that.”

 

“Is that a ‘no’?”

 

“...yes..”

 

“How long have you been hot for me?”

 

“Not for much longer if you keep this up.”

 

“Can you blame me for being _up_ with you doing this to me?”

 

“Really?”

 

“Shut up, you love it.”

 

And much much later, they curled up on the couch to knit, Phil occasionally putting down his yarn so he could lean over to Clint to correct his grip on the needles or to untangle his yarn.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I will try to have a new chapter posted bi-monthly, and when I am finished with my final month of college, I may post more frequently. Or just whenever the fancy strikes me...


End file.
